


He's All That

by jiffyfetch



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-11 23:58:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4457486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiffyfetch/pseuds/jiffyfetch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not that Ian dislikes Mandy's brother, it's just that he doesn't understand how it's possible for one person to own so many pairs of paint-splattered overalls and shirts without sleeves.</p><p>“Oh dear God,” he groans. But it’s too late. The terms of the bet have been set - he needs to convince Mickey Milkovich to date him, and then he needs to turn him into Prom Royalty material.</p><p> </p><p>A "She's All That" AU where Ian is a popular boi & Mickey is a bit of a loser.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [exoskeletons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exoskeletons/gifts).



> This fic was motivated by a long discussion with isabel about ian/mickey 90s teen movie aus & the burning desire to write Mickey as an aggressively gay performance artist. for isabel's 10 things i hate about you au, go here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2890373/chapters/6452300
> 
>  
> 
> I know Lip is older, but for the sake of this story they're only like a year apart and in the same grade due to their birthdays or something idk

It’s not the breakup that bothers Ian so much as its implications for his future. This (long-planned, no room for discussion) future was actually quite simple: become football captain, manage passing grades for a diploma, make Prom Royalty, get a football scholarship to a Good School But Not Too Far Away, make the NFL, make bank, buy Fiona a big ass house.

One could argue that Prom Royalty was the least important part of this roadmap, but Ian would be inclined to disagree. There was no other way to make it from Point A to Point B, no detours to be made. He had to meet every goal because he had to be successful and this was the only way he knew how.

In any other school, a breakup would have no impact on his chances to win Prom King, except at Jackson High there was no King or Queen, only “Royalty” - a couple of any gender. The couple could be romantic or platonic, gay or straight so long as they were popular and beautiful. This was some political move or attempt to avoid a lawsuit or something, but it didn't matter to Ian. He just needed to win.

And now, two weeks away from nominations, Ian was single. He had been planning to run alongside Ned, a well-liked if rather boring older guy. Ian wasn’t entirely sure how old Ned was, only that he’d been repeating the twelfth grade since before Ian even started the ninth.

Ian is woken from his thoughts by the appearance of his best friend. Mandy settles into the grass beside him, shoving a cupcake into his hands. The cupcake looks so shitty only she could have made it, and Ian is touched that Mandy, enemy of ovens and stoves everywhere, would have baked for him.

“Sorry about Ned,” she says without preamble, leaning her head against his shoulder.

Ian doesn’t want to respond to this immediately, so he bites into the cupcake instead. Despite its questionable origins, it doesn’t taste too bad. He can tell it was mixed from a box, and the cake is a little too dry, but it’s better than he expected.

He studies Mandy while he chews. Her outfit choices always make him smile in the morning - all bright colors and clashing patterns and too much skin. Today she wears a bright pink skirt, two sizes too small, paired with a striped navy sweater that is somehow simultaneously baggy and exposing. Her face is smeared with layers of makeup and her hair is pulled back in an efficient braid. 

“It’s fine,” Ian says, finally responding to Mandy’s greeting. “He was boring, anyways.”

“I know,” she replies, “but now you need to find someone new for Prom Noms.”

Mandy knows that Ian hates that rhyming abbreviation, and she smirks at his frown when she says it.

“Why don’t we go together?” Ian asks, poking her gently in the side. “We would have it in the bag.”

Mandy frowns and looks away.

“You’re back together with Lip.” It’s not a question and Ian doesn’t bother phrasing it as one. Mandy and Lip have an on-again-off-again relationship, and while Ian loves them both immensely, he prefers them both in the off-again times.

 “Yeah,” Mandy admits, “I didn’t want to tell you since you just got dumped-"

“We had a mutual split, and that’s what you’re going to tell people,” Ian interrupts. To them both, image is everything. Mandy already knows that a mutual split would be the public story, and she rolls her eyes at him. Ian wonders when they turned into each others PR teams. “And it’s fine, as long as you’re happy.”

“I am,” she replies, smile a little forced. She looks up suddenly, shading her eyes with fuchsia nails, grin widening as Lip walks over.

“Speak of the devil,” Ian laughs, punching Lip in the leg. Lip flops down beside them and sprawls in the grass.

“I heard your ass got dumped,” Lip says, not caring about tact in the slightest, cutting Ian off before he can respond. “And don’t give me that mutual split crap, there are no tabloid journalists here.”

Ian very purposefully does not respond.

“So what are you gonna do?” Lip asks. For all his teasing, he knows how important Ian’s road map is, and he knows that it includes Prom Royalty.

“Find a new date, I guess,” Ian groans. There is very little he would like to do less at the moment.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Lip snorts. “They gay guys at this school are ugly as fuck. Ned was your best shot.”

“That’s irrelevant,” Ian says, breezily. He has already considered his options and is not pleased. “Anyone with the right date can win.”

“So, what I hear you saying,” Lip says, an evil smile twisting at his lips, “is that you could go to prom with any boy in this school and win.”

Ian knows Lip is getting at something he won’t like, but he also knows he’s in too deep to go back.

“Yes,” Ian says, forcing as much bravado into his voice as he can.

“How interesting,” Lip replies. “Wanna bet?”

Mandy sits up, finally interested in their conversation.

Ian thinks it over. None of the openly queer guys are very good looking, but none are particularly awful either. This at least would save him the trouble of picking a target.

“Sure,” Ian says, starting to grin. He loves competition, and hasn’t had a bet with Lip in ages.

“Wait, any boy?” Mandy asks. Ian does not like the look on her face.

“As long as they’re out,” Ian says. He doesn’t want to ruin anyone’s life over something stupid like this.

“Well, I know exactly who to pick.” Mandy shares a meaningful look with Lip. “My brother.”

“What?” Ian gasps. In his mental catalogue of eligible bachelors, Mickey hadn’t even registered.

It's not that Ian dislikes Mandy's brother, it's just that he doesn't understand how it's possible for one person to own so many pairs of paint-splattered overalls and shirts without sleeves. Mickey may be far from ugly, but he’s damaged goods. He’s too aggressive, too antisocial, too gay.

Ian realizes that this seems like an odd complaint since he himself is gay, but he didn’t create a new club because the GSA “wasn’t radical enough.” He doesn’t stage protests or paint male nudes or do performance art.

“Oh dear God,” he groans. But it’s too late. The terms of the bet have been set - he needs to convince Mickey Milkovich to date him, and then he needs to turn him into Prom Royalty material.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully I'll get the rest of this up over the next few weeks, but I make no promises. My fics usually take two weeks or two years, so bare (bear?) with me here.

Ian doesn’t actually know how to ask Mickey out. He’s never had to ask anyone out before - guys had always approached him, allowing him to be picky. Even if he had tons of experience with guys, he has the feeling that none of it would apply to Mickey Milkovich.

Ian finds him easily enough, tucked into the art studio during lunch. Mickey doesn’t hear him approach, cheap earbuds crammed into his ears. Ian can hear the faint blare of music, but can’t actually make any sense of it. He watches Mickey work, blackened hands smudging charcoal across a page. He’s wearing overalls, as he always is, this time in a faded black. Old blue and green paint stains his knees, and something grayish brown (clay, Ian thinks) has been ground into his shirt. The shirt was an atrocity before its stains, so Ian figures no harm has really been done here. It’s an old button down with the sleeves ripped off. The ridiculousness of a collared shirt under overalls aside, Ian doesn’t understand why Mickey refuses to wear sleeves. He dresses like his sister with a disregard for normalcy, but unlike Mandy none of Mickey’s ensembles works in the slightest.

As he steps closer, Ian notices a tattoo working its way from Mickey’s shoulder up to his neck. He can’t quite tell what it is, something geometric and harsh.

Ian clears his throat. Mickey doesn’t hear. Ian clears his throat louder.

This does the trick - Mickey spins dramatically, yelping out a “Fuck!” of surprise.

“Hi,” Ian says. He tries to be charming, but he can’t tell if it’s working.

“Oh,” Mickey says. He doesn’t seem excited to see Ian, but he doesn’t seem angry either, so Ian decides to count this as a success. “What does Mandy want?”

“Um, nothing?” Ian replies. He realizes that for all of their brief encounters, he has absolutely no idea how to talk to Mickey. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“About?” Mickey’s responses are clipped. This is how Ian normally sees him, but he’s caught brief glimpses of the Milkovich siblings together, and has seen another side of Mickey before. That Mickey isn’t talkative, but he isn’t this abrupt either. Ian wonders what he would have to do, what test he would have to pass before he was deserving of Mickey’s words.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” Ian feels his heart rate double, triple.

“Why do you care?” Mickey rubs the back of his hand across his forehead, leaving a long streak of charcoal behind. Ian used to think that Mickey purposefully stained his clothes with art supplies, but he wonders now if they were truly accidental - the remains of a passionate affair.

“I wanted to take you on a date.” Ian doesn’t know Mickey well, but he’s caught some subtle glances in his direction. He figures his chances are good. Very few people would turn down a date with Ian Gallagher, star football player, blowjob legend. Ian does not think Mickey will say no.

“No,” says Mickey.

* * *

“Mandy,” Ian says, flopping down into his spot at their lunch table. He’s twenty minutes late to lunch and their table seats six, but only two spots are taken. Around the room, some people are squished two to a seat. Ian thinks that teen royalty suits him, and doesn’t understand why Mickey wouldn’t agree.

“What’s with the drama?” Mandy asks, rolling her eyes at his posture.

“Your brother rejected me,” Ian replies, slumping forward to rest his head on his arms.

“What did you expect?” Mandy says. She throws a french fry at Ian’s face.

“I expected him to say yes, please date me Ian Gallagher.” Ian looks at the fry, now sitting in a mysterious sticky stain on the table. He eats it.

“I don’t know why you thought he would say that,” Mandy laughs. She offers him the rest of her fries. “He hates you, Ian.”

“What? No he doesn’t! Does he?”

“Maybe not hate you, but he’s not a fan.” Mandy doesn’t seem to think he should be surprised by this news.

“Why not? I’ve seen him checking me out before.”

“Ian,” Mandy says this with a little sigh, the verbal equivalent of an eye roll. “You can think someone’s hot and still not like them. I don’t know why, though, you’d have to ask Mickey that.”

“Right,” Ian snorts. He doesn’t think that sounds like a good idea.

“You know where he works?” Mandy asks.

“Yeah, the Kash and Grab,” Ian says.

He used to work at the shitty convenience store too, quitting a few weeks before Mickey got hired. He couldn’t balance the job and football, and Fiona had told him to play football. He knew what a sacrifice that was for her, how many extra hours she had to work a week as a result. _The plan_ he reminds himself. _Just follow the plan and it will all have been worth it._

“Go there tonight, after 10,” Mandy tells him.

“The place closes at 10.” Ian may not have worked there for a while, but he’s certain this has not changed. People rented out the loading dock for some weird meetings or something that started at 10. He could never understand why people would want _that_ of all spaces, but as it had helped him get a paycheck he didn’t question it.

“I know,” Mandy replies. “Go around the back, to the loading dock.”

Of course Mickey would be at the weird loading dock meetings. Ian is trying to date the weirdest boy in Chicago.

* * *

When Ian gets to the Kash and Grab, he’s greeted by a hand-painted wooden sign. It reads, in lime-green letters: PERFORMANCE ART - “UNSPEAKABLE” BY M.M.. ONE NIGHT ONLY. ENTER THROUGH BACK DOOR.

Ian isn’t sure what “Unspeakable,” could possibly mean, but M.M. must be Mickey. He listens to the sign and enters through the back.

The space had been transformed. A small stage had been built at the back of the room, and is surrounded by old fashioned TVs, probably gathered from thrift stores and curbs and the city dump. Everything was lit only by Christmas lights that had been strung up across the walls. Ian suspects he would not call this room “transformed” if there was more light, but he’s impressed anyways. There aren’t any seats, but about ten people are sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the stage. Ian joins them.

Ian checks the time. 10:21. He texts Mandy.

_this is weird shit._

She doesn’t respond. Ian thinks maybe she hasn’t ever come to one of Mickey’s shows. Then he decides that she’s definitely come before, probably to all of the one’s she could make. He goes over her schedule in his head and realizes that she’s working tonight, serving greasy burgers until 11.

He checks the time again. 10:23.

Ian looks around him. He doesn’t recognize anyone. He hadn’t really expected to.

At 10:31 the crowd has grown to twenty. The TVs flicker to life, a sea of blue screens. A hush falls over the room, which is already fairly quiet.

Mickey walks onstage. He isn’t wearing overalls for once. Instead he’s in a tight black tank top over loose black sweatpants. Ian is reminded of Debbie’s ballet phase, when she made him watch movie after movie about dancers with her. Mickey looks like one of them now, appearing elegant and timeless.

And then the TVs start playing. Screen after screen of gay porn. The dim lights go out and Mickey is illuminated only by the videos playing behind him. His pale skin reflects the light of blowjobs and rimjobs and handjobs. The room is filled with moans and groans and pants and screams. Mickey is silent.

Ian is profoundly uncomfortable. He prefers his porn in private, not in a loading dock surrounded by artistically-inclined strangers.

Mickey lifts a bucket above his head for everyone to see, then places it down on the stage. He dips his hand into it, pulling something out and smearing it over his arms. Ian realizes the bucket was full of paint. As Mickey paints himself, he disappears into the darkness.

The TV screens start to flicker. One by one, they turn off. All that is left in the room is a heavy silence, an unbreakable darkness. Mickey has disappeared.

Ian doesn't know if this is art, but it does feel a little bit like magic.

He thinks Mickey is probably very pretentious.

Without ceremony, the room is flooded with light. Not the gentle bulbs from before, but the industrial fluorescents overhead. The loading dock becomes itself again, all traces of magic gone.

Ian looks at Mickey. He’s sitting on the stage, knees pulled up to his chest. His paint is not black, as Ian had thought, but navy blue and flecked with bits of silver. The crowd bursts into applause. Ian reminds himself to join in.

The look on Mickey’s face is unlike anything Ian has seen on him before. Bright eyes, gaping mouth. And it all falls apart when he notices Ian in the audience.

“Ian.” Mickey’s voice cuts through the twenty clapping people. Silence falls again, this time hostile. Everyone turns to stare.

“Mandy told me you would be here. That was amazing.” Ian doesn’t know what that was, and he’s not sure if he really ought to call it amazing. Still, it seems like the right thing to say.

“Right,” Mickey says. His mouth curls into an ugly snarl. “Why don’t you show us something then?”

“What?” Ian asks. The air has left his lungs.

“Come on,” Mickey orders. “Show me this isn’t some prank or joke. Come perform. I take this seriously. I want to know if you do too.”

Ian walks on stage. He stands there. He stares at the crowd. The crowd stares back. His mind is blank. His pockets are empty. He has nothing to offer these people.

Ian thinks about how they must see him. Carefully styled hair. Well-worn sneakers. Jeans and t shirt. The football team jacket, with CAPTAIN written across the back. Is this how Mickey sees him, a jock? A jacket and nothing more? Ian isn’t sure if there is anything more - he never wanted there to be.

Twenty eyes on him, Ian steps out of his shoes. He places them on Mickey’s lap. He pulls off his jacket, folding it into a square and placing this on Mickey as well. He briefly considers taking off his pants, then decides that that would accomplish nothing. He stands in his socks, trying to figure out what to do next.

“I’m not just a jock,” he tells Mickey. He sits beside the other boy, face to face, knee to knee.

“Aren’t you?” Mickey replies. This close, he can smell Mickey’s breath, a warm mix of Doritos and mint gum.

“Maybe,” he replies, truthfully. “But I’m asking you to look closer.”

Mickey smiles. He walks offstage, jacket and shoes still in his arms. He doesn’t reappear.

Ian walks home in his socks.

* * *

 

In the morning, when Ian leaves for practice, his shoes are sitting on the front porch. A note, scrawled on the back of a page of coupons, says I’M KEEPING THE JACKET. FOR NOW. - M


	3. Chapter 3

Mickey wakes up to the sound of his sister’s laughter. He presses a pillow over his face, trying to block out the noise and go back to sleep. Then he hears what she was laughing at: Ian Gallagher is in the other room. Mickey briefly considers using the pillow the to smother himself.

It’s not unusual for Ian to be here - he and Mandy are practically inseparable. Mickey just doesn’t want to deal with him on a Saturday morning, not after the last few days. He’d managed to avoid Ian after his show, ducking out of school hallways and avoiding his regular spots. He should’ve known it wouldn’t last.

Mickey doesn't understand Ian’s sudden interest in him. He’d been more or less ignored until now - Mandy’s pesky but irrelevant twin brother. He wishes Ian would leave him alone, would leave both of them alone.

It used to be him and Mandy against the world. When their dad would come home drunk or they couldn’t afford dinner or their power got shut off, they could turn to each other. When they were kids, they would pull the blankets off their beds and drape them over each, telling each other stories until they fell asleep. When Mandy’s first boyfriend cheated on her, Mickey punched him until he heard the crunch of a broken nose. When the older kids hurled hateful words at Mickey, Mandy threw rocks at their heads until they left him alone. But somewhere along the way they lost each other. Mandy turned to partying and appearances and Ian. Mickey turned to art and isolation.

He could never forgive Ian for replacing him, taking his place in Mandy’s ranks. He knew this wasn’t fair, but it was easier to blame Ian than to blame Mandy or himself. So he hated Ian, hated his muscles and his football team and his arrogance.

And yet here Ian was, laughing in the Milkovich kitchen. As soon as he thinks this, Mickey realizes that he’s starving. He decides to walk into the kitchen, get food, and not say a word to either of them.

He clambers out of bed and looks at himself in the mirror. He’s wearing only boxers, leaving most of his skin exposed. There’s still a fair amount of blue paint on him, too careless to get it all off in the shower. His tattoo is stark against his bare, pale shoulder. Mickey considers putting on pants and decides against it - this is his house after all.

Ian’s jacket is in his way, hanging off of the doorjam. Mickey pulls it off, wondering why he bothered to keep it. He had thought it was to piss Ian off, but now he’s not so sure. He kicks the jacket under his bed.

Ian and Mandy are huddled around the stove, attempting to make eggs. The kitchen smells like burning rubber.

Mickey goes for a safer option and pours himself a bowl of Lucky Charms. He feels two sets of eyes on him. He doesn’t look back. The milk smells like feet - it’s expiration date was two weeks ago. So much for his safe breakfast option. Mickey puts the milk back in the fridge, leaving it for someone else to deal with, and chews on his cereal dry.

“Anyways,” Mandy says, awkwardly trying to pick up her conversation with Ian from where it left off, “I don’t want to go. I hate that bitch Karen.”

“I don’t like Karen either,” Ian replies. Mickey can hear his eyeroll. “But everyone’s gonna be there. It’ll be fun, come on.”

Mandy doesn’t reply.

“We can trash her house,” Ian offers. Mickey knows that this will convince his sister. “I’ll pee on her bed for you.”

“Promise?” Mandy asks.

“Promise,” Ian says.

“Fine.”

“Mickey,” Ian says. _Don’t turn around, don’t look, don’t respond._ “Are you going to Karen’s party?”

Mickey doesn’t respond. Mandy kicks him.

Mickey gives her a look. She kicks him again.

“As much as I love Karen, I don’t think so,” Mickey sighs. He doesn’t actually know Karen Jackson, but she seems nice enough to him. Besides, Ian doesn’t like her, and that’s a good enough reason for him to consider her a friend.

“Why not?” Ian asks.

Mickey had really not wanted to get involved in a conversation. He considers throwing his Lucky Charms at Ian’s head.

“I don’t go to parties,” he says instead.

“Come on, Mick.” Mandy hasn’t called him that in a long time. It’s her special nickname for him, the one she uses when she wants him to do something for her. As much as he hates it, it always works. He’ll be 83 and giving in to Mandy’s every whim.

“No one wants me there,” Mickey says. He knows he’ll give in to Mandy, but he’s not going to say yes without making her beg.

“I want you there,” Mandy says.

“So do I,” echoes Ian. Mickey glares at him. He doesn’t back down.

“I’ll give you a makeover,” Mandy offers. Mickey does not want that at all.

“No fucking way.”

“Pleeeaaase?” Mandy pouts at him. She looks six years old again. “We never spend time together anymore.”

“Don’t pretend you’ve been trying,” Mickey replies. His voice drips venom. He watches Mandy’s face fall. For all his anger, he hadn’t wanted to hurt her.

“I’ve been trying,” she says, voice small. “I miss you.”

“Fine,” Mickey says. Fuck. “I’ll go, whatever.”

He’s rewarded with a smile, not quite a full Mandy smile, but almost there. He knows he’ll regret it later, but right now he just wants Mandy to be happy.

* * *

Ian isn’t sure what just went down between Mickey and Mandy, but he’s decided not to ask. There’s some years-old hurt between the siblings, and he doesn’t want to get involved.

All that matters now is that Mickey said yes. It isn’t quite a date, but it’s close enough. The problem is he still looks like Mickey Milkovich.

Ian knows that Mandy’s offer of a makeover was completely serious, and she kicks at Mickey’s legs until he relents. They go back to Mickey’s room, where Mandy flings open the closet and starts throwing clothes on the already-messy floor.

Ian had been in Mickey’s room before, but only when he was passing through on his way to the bathroom. He hadn’t ever really looked around. He does now.

The walls are covered with posters, an odd mix of shirtless muscular men (no doubt stuck up to piss off his dad whenever he got out of jail) and art prints. Ian recognizes Starry Night and The Scream, but the rest are foreign to him. They all have captions, but Ian doesn’t recognize any of the names. Most of the other words are in Dutch or Swedish or some other European language. The room has no furniture, only a bed pushed up against the far wall. Instead, it’s crammed with paints and clay and piles of books. Ian hadn’t pegged Mickey for much of a reader - upon close inspection, he realizes that the books are all about art. He opens one and flicks through page after wordless page of glossy pictures - black and white photographs of people. A lot of them are nudes, heavily focused on the subject’s penis. Ian reads the cover: Robert Mapplethorpe. He has no idea who that is. He picks up another book, this one about Frida Kahlo. It’s full of brightly colored paintings that creep Ian out. He puts the books back. He wonders how Mickey can afford all of this. He knows the Kash and Grab doesn’t pay that well. How many hours did he have to work just to get one of these books, one tube of paint?

Mickey and Mandy are arguing about clothes. Ian decides to let Mandy fight this battle for him. He continues exploring the room.

Canvases are stacked against the wall, unhung. They aren’t cohesive, but a weird mix of styles and subjects. Ian’s favorite is a self-portrait, painted all in different shades of yellow. Mickey isn’t smiling in it, but it still feels somehow happy to Ian. He runs his fingers over the dried paint.

“Hey asshole,” Mickey yells, “leave those alone.”

“Sorry,” Ian says awkwardly. He feels like he got caught doing something more intimate, like reading Mickey’s diary (he wonders if Mickey has a diary - probably not, he thinks.) “These are really good, though. I love this one, the yellow.”

Mickey hastily forces a smile off of his lips. He turns back to Mandy.

“I don’t understand,” she says, “how you don’t own any shirts with sleeves.”

“I don’t like them,” Mickey replies simply. He flops down on the unmade bed.

“Well you look like an asshole,” Mandy says. She gives up on shirts and starts looking for pants that aren’t overalls. She holds up a pair of light wash jeans, mostly spared from paint stains. “What about these?”

“No,” Mickey replies. He doesn’t offer a reason. Mandy doesn’t fight him.

Mickey also rejects his black sweatpants from the art show, two more pairs of jeans, and some slacks that he refers to as his “court pants.”

Eventually Mandy gets him to agree to some black skinny jeans and a striped tank top. Ian has to admit that it doesn’t look half bad.

Then she turns to his hair. The sides of his head are buzzed and growing in a dark brown - almost black. The rest is bleached, making him look like “some weird hipster skunk” as Mandy puts it. Mickey seems rather pleased by this description.

“I don’t want to dye it back,” Mickey says.

“Honestly,” Ian sighs, reluctantly making his way into the argument, “I think the hair is way worse than the overalls. Like, what if you dyed your hair back and then wore whatever you wanted?”

Mickey considers this compromise.

“Fine,” he sighs. “But only because the bleach is damaging my hair.”

* * *

Karen’s house is right by the El, and Mickey can hear the mixing sounds of rattling trains and hip hop from blocks away. The cool spring air brought the party outside, and the entire senior class is packed onto the lawn, drinking beer and grinding on each other.

Mickey doesn’t think he’s ever seen any of these people outside of the dimly-lit school hallways. He has no desire to see them now. Mandy flounces ahead through the white picket fence, dragging Lip with her. Ian hangs behind, waiting for Mickey to continue walking. He reaches his hand out. Normally, Mickey would have ignored him or flipped him off, but right now he’s glad for the reassurance. He takes Ian’s hand and lets their fingers twine together.

Ian tugs Mickey through the crowd, waving to people and shouting cheerful hellos as they make their way to a table of drinks. It’s crowded with bottles of vodka and cans of beer, an odd mix of alcohol that looks like it was stolen from several parents' liquor cabinets.

Ian offers Mickey a beer. He takes it gratefully, and downs half of it in one gulp. It’s warm and tastes cheap. He doesn’t give a shit.

A blond girl in a tiny blue dress walks over to them. Her young face is at odds with the hickeys lining her neck.

“Hi Karen,” Ian says. He doesn’t seem excited to see her, and she doesn’t seem to care.

“Ian,” she replies, tipping her red solo cup in his direction. “Is this another Gallagher/Milkovich couple I see?”

Ian looks to Mickey for the answer.

“We’ll see,” Mickey says.

“Well I’m glad to see you out and about Mickey.” She looks him up and down, taking in his outfit (white overalls with no shirt underneath) and his newly dyed hair. She smirks slightly and flounces away.

Ian makes a vague noise and pulls his phone out of his pocket. Mickey hadn’t heard it ringing, but now the One Direction ringtone is unmistakable. Mickey can’t stop himself from laughing.

“Debbie programmed it,” Ian says, blushing. “Sorry, it’s Fiona. Is it okay if I take this?”

“What do I care?” Mickey replies. Ian wanders off, in search of a quiet spot. Mickey suspects that this will take him a while.

Alone, Mickey has no idea what to do. He chugs the rest of his beer, does a tequila shot that a sophomore offers him, and heads into the crowd to find Mandy. He sees Lip engaged in a lively game of beer pong. Mickey has no desire to talk to his lemur-looking ass, so he keeps walking, finding his way into the white stone house. It’s quieter in here and reeks of pot.

Mickey’s searching for the smokers when he’s violently interrupted. A shitfaced guy who looks way too old for high school bumps into him, pushing him away.

“What the fuck, dickbag?” Mickey asks. He doesn’t like to be pushed.

“You here with Gallagher?” the guy asks.

“Who wants to know?”

“Stay away from that dick,” the asshole says.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Mickey replies. He feels a hand on his shoulder and catches a glimpse of red hair.

“Ned isn’t worth listening to in any case,” Ian says. He leans against Mickey easily, smoking a cigarette. Mickey can see a little bit of the charm that seems to pull people to him. He plucks the cigarette from Ian’s fingers and takes a drag.

The asshole - Ned, Ian called him - looks them both up and down. “What is this Ian?” he asks. “Is this your pitiful attempt to make me jealous? Because it isn’t working. This kid is a fucking weirdo queer. He’s social suicide. And you’re making yourself a joke by showing up here with him.”

He spits on the floor and walks away.

“What the fuck?” Mickey says. He tries to keep the hurt out of his voice, but his words break apart.

“Mickey-” Ian tries, but Mickey pushes him away. He runs out of the house, forcing his way through the crowd to get away from everyone.

He leans against the wall underneath the El tracks. He knows it's stupid that Ned's words got to him; they stung more than he would have thought. He normally prides himself in his weirdness, his aggressive artsiness, but he wants to fit into Mandy's world too.

Mickey lets the rattling trains drown out his thoughts. He feels a burning against his fingertips and realizes that he’s still holding Ian’s cigarette, now nothing more than ash. He drops it on the sidewalk and stomps it out, kicking against it well after it’s gone out.

He watches Ian approach him, barely visible in the flickering streetlights. Mickey slides down the wall to sit on the pavement. Ian sits beside him.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Don’t fucking talk to me,” Mickey replies.

Ian lights another cigarette and blows the smoke into the air.

“Ned’s an asshole, and he’s drunk,” Ian says. “He was always jealous. I guess that still applies now even though he dumped me.”

“You dated that fucker? I mean, how old is he?”

“Honestly,” Ian replies, laughing, “I have no idea. He’s been in high school for a long time.”

“You’re an idiot for dating him,” Mickey says. “And you’re an idiot for making me come to this party.”

“Dating him maybe,” Ian concedes, “but bringing you? No.”

“I’m wearing fucking overalls,” Mickey says.

“They’re kind of growing on me,” Ian admits. He pokes Mickey’s exposed abdomen, running a finger across his skin. Mickey shivers. “Wanna get out of here?”

Mickey really, really does.


End file.
